Wishes
by Cookiethursday
Summary: <html><head></head>Once a decision is made, you have no choice but to see it through to the end.</html>


"Why are you here?"

Katara stood just behind Zuko. It was late, yet she couldn't sleep. The stress placed on her mind from the addition of their latest group member was proving to be too much. Apparently it had been too much for him as well. Upon getting up for a drink, she had found him seated on the edge of the court yard, feet dangling over the side and eyes trained to the sky.

Zuko snorted. "That's a rather philosophical question for so late at night. People have been trying to answer it for years. Give me a minute to think it over." He never looked back at her. Instead he kept his gaze steady, eyes following the moon's slow path across the sky.

Katara turned away and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "You're not funny. You know what I mean."

For a moment, there was no response. Then Zuko sighed. "I know." When it seemed he had nothing more to say, Katara looked at him again, ready to repeat her question. However, the words paused on her lips. He seemed to be lost in thought. The brow of his good eye was pulled low and his mouth pulled into a frown. "That I know. What I don't know," it came out slowly, almost as if he was thinking out loud, "is how I'm supposed to make you trust me."

She huffed as she stared at the back of his head. That was why she was there. She didn't trust him. It had left her tossing and turning for hours in her bedroll. "You know you had it once." It was more a statement than a question. "However, it didn't take you long to destroy it." She could see his shoulders tense. Good. He should feel uncomfortable. He should feel sorry, and guilty and ashamed for what he did.

"I know – I know no matter how many times I say it, it won't be enough. But I am sorry." He turned slightly where he sat and looked up at her. Katara wasn't sure what she saw in his look. It said so much, yet she understood so little from it. Emotions danced across his face and disappeared before she could properly understand them. "I am here to help. Whatever that means. If it means I teach Aang, then that's what I'll do. If it means fighting my father, I will."

He voice was low and serious. It seemed he truly believed what he said. But minds and feelings can change. He himself had given a perfect, shining example of this only a short time ago.

Katara sighed and shook her head. "If that's really the case, then it means a great deal more than that. It means you'll help us clean up camp. It means you'll help us find food. It means you'll help watch the younger kids and make sure they stay out of trouble. But mostly, and most importantly, it means you'll help keep everyone safe." Zuko gave her a funny look, but she pressed forward."Look, if you really want our trust, you're going to earn it. Show that you can work _with_ us." Shaking slightly, Katara looked away.

The night air was cool, and she wished she had more than her night clothes and her blanket. She wished for a lot of things really. Like how she wished the war was over. She wished for mother and her soft voice. Hell, she wished for a little salt to go with dinner. She wished this was easier. This awkward conversation with the enemy turned ally. But it wasn't. Katara took a deep, calming breath, willing her stomach to settle, even if just a little. At the end of it, she whispered, "Show that you can work with Aang. Please. He needs you."

Still shivering, Katara looked backed down at Zuko. He seemed to be thinking again. "Here," she held out her hand. One of the old wool blankets that they had uncovered from the ancient air temple hung loosely in her grip. "It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

His eyes came back into focus and he shot her another strange look. Slowly, as if afraid she'd change her mind and pull back, he reached out and took it. "Thank you."

"No problem. Have a good night." Katara turned and walked back to their small camp, holding tight to her trust in Aang. Silently, she sent out a prayer to whoever might be listening that this decision wouldn't reveal itself to be a bad one.


End file.
